She Wore Diamonds on the Inside

I was having some phone trouble while on vacay, so here's a belated blog entry from it:

Thirty is starting out pretty great. In fact, I'm flat-out happy about life right now and that's not because of the slight buzz I'm still sporting from last night's post-dinner drinks...okay, maybe it's not so slight.
It's strange to think that I had to come to Vegas to learn something about my own sensibility, but I guess you can't predict how you'll learn certain things about yourself.
I have been talking about Chanel flats since before our honeymoon. I said I was going to get some as my big wedding/honeymoon present to myself, but when we were in a Paris department store, I picked one up and flipped it over. I immediately set it back on the shelf and did an about-face. Sean was sick of hearing about these damn shoes so the first thing out of his mouth was, "Where are you going? How much were they?" I continued walking and replied, "I can't tell if the first number is a 4 or a 9, which means we can't afford them." I'm pretty sure his jaw probably dropped, but I couldn't say for sure because I was high-tailing it out of there.
On my birthday, I decided to get myself those flats. I was so excited. We walked to the Bellagio's luxury shops and I had my moment outside of Chanel where I told myself I was ready to become a full-blown fancy lady. I paused before I walked in and drank in the moment of appreciation of abundance in my life. I walked in, strode over to the flats and excitedly looked around. I found the ones I have been dreaming about and casually flipped them over. Let's just say they were $50-$75 over the already absurdly high heart-attack limit I had set for myself...and I couldn't do it. I grabbed Sean and once again left that Chanel behind. Once outside the store, he asked how much they were and when I told him, his jaw dropped. I teared up because it was my birthday and I just couldn't believe I would have enough sense (even after a few cocktails!) to walk away from baby's first Chanel (I'm not counting my glasses...though I probably should.). I hated myself. But that f'ing Midwestern sensibility (thanks, Mom and Dad) kicked in and all I could think about was that no matter how much success I eventually have in my life, I'm just not going to be able to shake that little voice of reason that reminds me there are millions of animals in need and how much good I could do with that selfishly extravagant "budget" I set for myself.
Dammit. Even with alcohol, the sense is there...and I think it's because I'm getting older.
Seeing my disappointment, Sean grabbed my arm and said, "You need to buy something IMMEDIATELY!" We found more cocktails and an H&M and suddenly, all was well again. And later that night, I ended up with a gorgeous Max Azria bag and a new gay bestie named Sammy. I love that bag so much that I carried it around our hotel room for three days. It's insanely beautiful and I am so fortunate...even if I am cursed with good sense.

This bitch is still in her 20s for a few more hours

Big year. I got married. I went back to Europe. I'm turning 30 tomorrow. I'm doing a self eval. It's big stuff. And as I sit in my (home) office, typing my last blog entry as a 20-something, I feel like I'm having a Doogie Howser moment. And then I realize that many who read this won't even know who I'm talking about, which is really sad since Doogie was the shit 20+ years ago. Oh jesus, I'm old. But seriously, it was good. Netflix it.

Anyway, every asshole has a blog now. And every asshole thinks you want to know what he/she has to say. So I don't presume that my words have any more meaning to you than theirs, but they mean something to me. The lesson I've learned in the past few days is that for far too long, I've made the mistake of writing and just really hoping someone out there would like it. But I should never have been writing for them. I should always write for me. Because at the end of the day, despite what some know-it-alls may tell you, it's all subjective anyway.

SO my big close as a 20-something blogger is this:
I've lived a lot of life in these 29 years. I've made a lot of really bad decisions that turned into really good stories (some of which I'll never tell!). I've  (oh my god, I seriously just paused while typing and cocked my head up toward the ceiling. DOOGIE ANYBODY???) had my heart broken and I've been unkind. I didn't appreciate the hard work it takes to get things and I didn't know how hard my parents worked just to give me an education. But if there's anything I've learned in these 29 years, it's that I don't have all the answers. I don't even have a fraction of the answers. But I do know that you have to do what makes you happy and you have to have the drive to swim upstream when that's the hardest possible row to hoe. The good stuff comes from work--that much I do know.

So I'll say goodnight and leave you with this:
Know that you have my most sincere gratitude for giving my words even a few moments of your life.

29 Out.

Suburgatory is Real

The new ABC show Suburgatory is pretty much the best idea ever to sum up my childhood and adolescence...even if it's slightly misguided in its execution and will probably only stick around for one season. (Elton from Clueless should really start looking for other work.)
I know people work really hard--their entire lives--to buy a nice home in a homogenized neighborhood of freshly built cracker jack boxes with saplings in the front yard and Subarus in the driveway. And maybe when I'm older and wiser I'll decide that the best route for my kid is white-faced youth all vying for a seat at "the cool kids' table" and getting in line at the cafeteria for a future eating disorder. Maybe. And maybe I'll be right because it'll end up giving my kid the best education, safety or life expectations beyond a small studio apartment below 14th street. But who knows? I'll unintentionally mess that kid up in one way or another, of that I am sure.

Also, I wish I watched that new show Revenge. Not only is it set in The Hamptons, but it looks like a more grown-up version of Gossip Girl, which I think we can all agree was (at one point) the very best thing to happen to TV. Ever.

Also, now that there's another Paranormal Activity movie out, I've been hearing some weirdo noises in my home late at night. If anyone is even remotely interested in hearing any of my ghost experiences (and I've had several), I'll share. But at least two people have to leave comments on this entry! Is anyone out there??? I'm not even sure my mama reads this damn thing.

Breaking so Bad it brings tears to your eyes

Warning: this entry is a little more introspective than "I need a Louis Vuitton purse." (But I do.)

For years, Sean and I have heard that Breaking Bad is, like, the best show to happen to TV since the Brady sisters got married. I looked at the premise and said, "Soooo, it's just Weeds, but with meth? Hmmm. Sounds like a hoot. No, thanks. I already have a drug show." But I love dark (Six Feet Under is one of my all-time favorite shows and American Beauty is brilliance in film embodied.). And people continue to rave. So yesterday, one of Sean's co-workers very kindly brought him season 1 on blu-ray and insisted he give it a go.
Last night, he gingerly approached me with, "I know you've been kind of reluctant, but would you want to check it out?" To say I was hesitant is pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. See, I didn't want to watch it for reasons much more deeply rooted than I think I'm a TV critic. I lost a friend in a very convoluted series of circumstances, one of which was meth. And even though it was 7+ years ago, last night made it abundantly clear that I've never really dealt with it. In fact, I'd definitely say I'm still in the grieving stage and I'm pretty convinced I'll never get out of it. Even just typing this, I picture her and what a kindred spirit she really was. So it feels pretty fucked up when you're barely out of college and you lose someone who could finish your thoughts and make you laugh until you're very nearly in need of a pair of Depends. And you know what? It still feels pretty fucked up. Maybe it's because I moved away (four times) and I wasn't there to know what truly happened. I don't think I'll ever really know. And I choose to remember her as the person she actually was, not the person Cosmopolitan magazine portrayed in their feature a few years ago.
All of that withstanding, just one episode of that show last night brought it all back to the damned surface and, man, I cried within about 5 minutes of the first frame. I can't help but watch it and think, "This isn't entertaining. These are peoples' lives." And I'm willing to bet that someone dies from this shit every single day. Most of them aren't bad people, either. They're people who've been preyed upon by uneducated pricks who cook up a bunch of chemicals so they don't have to actually work for their money. It makes me so angry that these people think they have the right to behave this way that I felt consumed with overwhelming sadness just by watching a 45-minute show. It's like I want to shake people and remind them that this ruins peoples' lives and it's not funny. It's not good.
Yes, I did say I watch Weeds, but smoking too much pot never killed anyone as far as I know. (But don't get me wrong--that's not my scene, either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I get all fired up if anyone tries to bring that shit into my house.)
The episode ended and Sean asked me what I thought. I had to pause because I just had tears streaming down my face. I was finally able to blurt out, "It just makes me sad...but you can watch another one if you want." I stood up and headed to the stairs, just shrugging when he asked me if I were okay.
I went to the bathroom, sat down on the bathmat and wept. And I knew that I finally have to deal with this shit because it's not going anywhere until I quit allowing it a space at the table in my life. But how do you ever let go of someone you loved so dearly and who died so suddenly? How do you explain to people who just don't get it that I can blame whomever I want; I can still be angry and sad and not want to talk about it; I can make her into a saint in my mind if that's how I need to deal with things? ...well, maybe I should start with just not watching a show that glorifies the devils she danced with in the end?
And if that isn't enough, I'll shop. Today, I went with both.


*In the interest of respecting not only her privacy, but also the privacy of her incredibly wonderful and strong family, I won't give any details about her other than that she was the bees' knees. She was "smart as a whip," as they say (and, in this case, "they" is probably your grandpa), and funny and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside--and not in that, "Oh, you should meet my friend. She has a really great personality," kind of way. In that, "Is she a model?" kind of way.